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A Poem of Sorts

Written at work (they always are)

Work Bathrooms

Automatic sensors you baffle me
Flushing while I’m still sitting
How could you miss me?
Yet refusing to give me water
Needed to wash my soapy hands
At least the hot air dryer gives love
In little gusts of warmth

One Comment

  1. Comment by firstsoprano:

    I like this one.

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